


Teach Me How To Die and Live Again

by dearcst



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Angst, Castiel cusses a lot, Child Abuse, Dean's a dick, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Suicidal Intentions, Suicidal!Cas - Freeform, There are numbers above your head that tells the day you die AU, and then he isn't, angst everywhere, bully!dean, eventual destiel, lotsa angst, mentions of past rape, two dumbos falling in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-07
Updated: 2015-01-11
Packaged: 2018-02-16 10:25:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 20,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2266266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dearcst/pseuds/dearcst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Dean wanted was to get a reaction from the infamous stone-faced Castiel. There were better ways to go about it, he belatedly realized, than to bully him. Harsh words flying, Dean waits for Castiel to punch him in the face, spit back a few insults, or something. He never wanted to see Cas' Number go from 84 years to 32 minutes after one sentence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

 

Dean always knew the saying that “words hurt” but somehow he never really believed it. It was the type of thing like people would tell you that there’s a vacuum in space, and sure, it makes sense, all right. But you never really truly believed it. It’s just a fabrication, something that someone else told you, and you accept it as fact but you don’t place faith in it. That’s exactly how Dean would describe how he felt about the saying “words hurt.” There was also “stick and stones” right? So he didn’t place his faith in it.

Dean was _popular_ , God he really hated that word, but he knew he was popular. He had tons of friends, or people that spoke to him, gave him a high five, grinned in his direction, he had a pretty nice life, or maybe it was just that he was nonchalant. His mom died when he was four in a house fire, but he forced that too deep down to focus on it. He had a fine life. He did what he wanted and didn’t listen to people who tried to tell him to do shit. He was known for that.

He also knew when people spoke of him, they attached his last name: Dean _Winchester_. Like he was an object and if you didn’t say _Winchester_ it wasn’t really him. Dean _Winchester_ knocked up Lisa last weekend. Dean _Winchester_ cursed out Mr. Henrickson in second period. Dean _Winchester_ skipped fourth period to get drunk. He knew all this, and he didn’t really give a shit what other people said. Words didn’t mean anything.

Then there was Castiel, and no one had to say Castiel’s last name because his first name was good enough already. You could call him Blue Eyes even and everyone would know who you’re talking about. Even if you were talking about someone else who had blue eyes, they’d think of Castiel at the very mention of blue eyes.

Dean had two classes with Castiel, and anyone who spent a minute with the guy knew that Castiel was strict with rules, didn’t color outside the lines, and wore an oversized trench coat that he must be burning up under. They spoke very little and stared very frequently. It was like a lightning storm striking between their eyes. When they did speak, Dean (admittedly) was rude and harsh. Castiel stood stoically like a warrior in armor, hit after hit, he said nothing and turned away when Dean was done. It was _infuriating_ , and Dean tried harder to earn a reaction every day.

The Numbers.

They were inconspicuous, just little black numbers, sort of like Times New Roman font, size eleven, right above the head. You could easily miss them if you tried, and many did. All were supposed to. It didn’t take long into man’s existence to realize the numbers ticked down until the day of death. Supposedly, they could change, but no one really realized when they did since they weren’t supposed to be spoken of. They blurred together in a huge sea of grey above the heads of hundreds. You couldn’t read them anyways.

Dean had a sort of crowd, a little mass of people that would surround him. They laughed when he made a lame joke. It was weird at first but Dean learned that it was fun to mess with them, make a crude joke or comment that he knew they wouldn’t agree with and watch their facial expression fluctuate and contort before they agreed with him. Castiel was the only one that ever ignored him. It was something Dean did too often: mess with people.

The crowd made it easier to try to mess with Cas (what Dean called Castiel in his head). Dean would walk up to Castiel, the mass of people behind him making it harder for Castiel to just push past him and leave. He did that twice before. They stared at each other for a short period of time.

“Yes?” Castiel had a really deep voice.

“Your shirt looks stupid,” Dean blurted, hearing the people around him snicker and murmur in agreement. Dean followed Castiel’s eyes for a reaction.

Castiel looked down at his shirt and then back up at Dean. “Okay,” he said.

“What? You have a habit of looking stupid, stupid?” it was lame, Dean knew.

Castiel didn’t respond.

“You like to be ugly, too?” Dean got closer, he was a few inches taller than Cas. It was like casting a huge shadow over Cas’ face. “You’re good at it, at least.”

Castiel was always the same. He stared up into Dean’s eyes and didn’t say a word. He didn’t blink. He just stood there, taking it all.

“How do you live with yourself?”

Castiel had no reaction.

Dean laughed humorlessly and shook his head, turning around and leaving. Dean swore to himself there would be the day when Castiel would just up and punch him in the face. He longed for it. He wanted to break the mask of Castiel’s face. It wasn’t normal never to react. It wasn’t normal to never fight back. What was his problem?

Dean was fucked up in the head. He knew that now that he looked back at it, but he actually asked Charlie Bradbury (it wasn’t her unless he said her last name, too,) to dig up some dirt on Cas’ personal life. It only took two hours before she emailed him a document that he read thoroughly and prewrote some insults in his head. When he looks back at it, he probably could have gained a reaction by choosing to do something on the romantic sides of things. Or kindness at least. He could have tried to make Cas blush or smile instead of give Dean a shiner. He should have tried that instead.

But he didn’t, because after school the next day, Dean told his little group of people to go on without him. He wanted a _reaction_ from Cas, not to humiliate him in front of the whole school. Everyone passed by him, it was like Dean was a fish swimming upstream. The mass of black scribbles of numbers atop the heads of the kids followed and rushed to the door with the soul it was attached to. Dean caught Cas in the library before he could leave.

Cas looked as stone-faced as he always did.

Dean was despicable, he pushed Cas’ shoulder and he fell against the wall. “I know what daddy did to you,” he cut right to it and it was fucking satisfying how Cas’ eyes widened just a fraction of a centimeter.

“And you know? It’s probably the best thing to ever happen to you. I mean who else would willingly touch something so disgusting?”

Castiel didn’t respond but something was broken in his eyes. Dean faltered. He didn’t know why he continued.

“So your mommy died giving birth to you, your daddy took your body as he took hers. Shame he’s locked up though. I bet you loved it when he’d fuck you. He’s the only one to ever want you.”

Dean could see Cas’ chest quiver, the corners of his lips shake. His own chest felt way too tight, like someone was grabbing him, choking him. He should have stopped there, apologized or some shit, but he didn’t. He wanted Cas to grow up and punch him. Kick him. At least talk back to him. Insult him.

“No one wants you, Cas.”

Cas blinked, but that was it. His face didn’t change other than that.

The Numbers did, though. They ticked down.

 _84/4/22_ for years/hours/minutes.

They got smaller, smaller and fucking _smaller_ , Dean couldn’t tear his eyes away because Dean had never seen numbers change by year before. Dean couldn’t _breathe_.

_0/0/32_

Why wouldn’t he say anything? He looked no different than he ever had. He didn’t look angry, upset, sad, _anything_. He looked so _normal_.

_0/0/31_

Castiel pushed past him and walked to the door. Some kind of hurricane teared up Dean’s chest.

“H-Hey! Wait a minute!” he shouted before he could help himself.

Castiel didn’t stop walking, he disappeared behind the door and Dean could hear his footsteps echoing down the hall. Dean felt frozen in place before he broke out running. He had never felt his heart beat so fast in his life. He didn’t want this type of reaction. He would never want this type of reaction, and how the _hell_ was he supposed to know where Cas went?

“Cas! Wait!” he yelled, and he was sure his voice shook with fear, with guilt. He checked the closest bathroom which was empty and then burst through the doors of the school and got into his car.

He had never been so glad to have Cas’ address before and opened his email on his phone. He pulled out and sped down the street. Cas lived two blocks from school, so he probably walked to and from the deathtrap (thanks to Dean, quite literally, fucking genius he is.) He slammed on his breaks when he saw Castiel hugging the trench coat tighter around his body. He was crying.

Dean rolled down the window and said, “Kid, get in.”

“Fuck off.”

“He speaks!”

“Fuck off.”

“The same words but-”

“What the hell do you want, Dean Winchester?” Cas got the memo. It wasn’t really him until you said Winchester.

“I already told you,” Dean motioned with his head. “Get in.”

“And I already told you to fuck off.”

Cas walked faster and Dean rolled along side him. “I’ll drive you home.”

“I’ll be home in twenty minutes if I walk.”

“Ten if I drive you.”

Castiel stopped and glared at the grass under his feet. Dean watched him carefully before the numbers above his head ticked down even more and he got into the passenger seat.

_0/0/16_

Dean  floored it and sped down the street. He could practically hear his heart beating in his chest. He couldn’t see the Numbers with his eyes on the road but he could fucking _feel_ them.

“Turn here.”

Dean drove faster past the street.

“You missed it! Just stop. I’ll walk if you weren’t serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Let me out!”

“No!”

_0/0/02_

“Then I’ll jump out!”

“Don’t you fucking dare! What the hell is your problem?”

_0/0/17_

“You are! Let me the fuck out of your car!”

“No!”

“So what? You’re kidnapping me? You want to rape me too? I thought I was too _disgusting_!”

“Shut up! I didn’t mean any of that shit!” Dean gripped the wheel tighter, feeling a little like crying himself. He felt so fucking stupid.

“Sure,” Cas spat out the word. “Do me a favor and drive us off a cliff.”

Cas leaned against the window, eyes blue and wide as they took in the world. The Numbers gradually grew. Dean tried to make himself breathe. He would die himself before he let Cas… do that. He turned on the radio to distract himself. His heart was the roaring sea waiting for the calm. He kept sneaking glances at Cas as he drove to nowhere and beyond. Every word he said sat heavy like poison on his tongue. He was really too beautiful to ever be even thought of as disgusting.

Castiel’s nose scrunched up adorably. “What kind of music is this?”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “You don’t know Led Zeppelin?”

“No.”

“ _Seriously_?”

Castiel made a noise with his mouth and shrugged. It got quiet after that, and Dean really hated the wordless conversation, so he said, “Well what kind of music do you like?”

“Shut up.”

It felt like knife, honestly. “What?”

“What?” Castiel looked over at him. “ _What?”_ he repeated, “You fucking demean me for years, torture me emotionally and act like my heart and soul is your toy to play with like every other one is- Oh apparently Dean Winchester is _God_ in this fucked up world! So you go too far one day, you see my Numbers because why the fuck else would you ever give a shit about me other than to be a hero and save my life? Well I don’t fucking want to be saved so take me the fuck home!”

“You curse too much.”

“Shut the fuck up and take me home!”

“No! Kid-”

“Stop calling me ‘kid!’”

“ _Cas_ -” Dean amended. “You got a lot of life ahead of you don’t just throw it away because I’m an asshole.”

Castiel laughed humorlessly. “Dean Winchester insulting _himself_. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Look, I-” Dean couldn’t get his voice to work. “This sounds really stupid but that’s only because _I’m_ really stupid, I just wanted you to fight back against me. I thought if I went to far you’d hit me or something. You never react at anything.”

“So I’m your fucking project?” Castiel only sounded angrier. “Let’s string up the freak and poke him until he wants to die. Sounds like so much fun.”

“No! Look, you’re not a freak or stupid or ugly or disgusting or anything else I called you, I just-”

“You don’t understand, Winchester,” Cas spat, “It’s not you. Yeah, sure, you pointed it out and shit but that doesn’t make it any less true. I’m a bastard child that killed his mother, what else do I need to do to deserve to die? My mother was- I’m sure she was a perfectly nice, beautiful woman and because she chose me over an abortion she died. It should have been me so I’m putting it right.”

Dean stopped the car and both of them jolted and their heads hit the back of the seats. Castiel took the opportunity to grab for the door handle but Dean beat him to it. Leaning over his body, he ripped Cas’ hand away from the door and blocked it with his arm. Their faces were inches apart.

“I was wrong, don’t you fucking get that-”

“No!” Castiel yelled. “No, I _don’t_ get it!”

“You listened to me when I insulted you so listen to me as I set it straight!” Dean felt his throat being teared up. How loud he was probably hurt Cas’ ears or surprised him or both because he quieted down. Their breaths intermingled and Dean’s eyes met Cas’ in a way that was much more tender than how they used to clash. He dropped his armor. His eyes dropped down to Cas’ lips and then back up.

“You’re worth it,” he said softly. “I don’t care who tells you otherwise- I don’t care if it’s me- You’re _worth it_. If you leave like that you’ll regret it, there’s so much you want to do with life. You’re just- Don’t, please don’t do it, I couldn’t live with myself if you-” he couldn’t bring himself to say it.

“I should,” Castiel spoke up. His words lacked conviction. “To show you what a fucking asshole you are.”

“I am.”

“You are.”

“I am,” Dean murmured again.

“Yeah,” Castiel was as quiet as he was.

They were so close.

“We should go out to dinner or something,” Dean requested.

Castiel breathed in deeply. Dean watched each breath with the utmost cherishment.

“I don’t like Italian.”

“Chinese?”

Castiel nodded. His eyes were so blue. Every fiber in Dean’s body was screaming for him to kiss him, but he leaned away and settled back in his seat. Castiel looked shaken up, confused. His chest moved up and down quickly like he was having the same problem as Dean with his heart. Cas bit his lip and looked out the window again, pulling the trench coat over his chest in some attempt to protect it from the war outside, beckoning, knocking, like maybe it would be worth it for Cas to open the door and rush into some stupid teenage love. It wasn’t some movie though. He shoved his face into the glass of the window. Dean started up the engine again and watched him. His fingers itched to brush the hair from his eyes. Maybe they would never actually work out. Dean screwed everything up pretty bad, but Cas looked in self conflict.

Dean took a deep breath and turned down the next street to the closest Chinese restaurant.

The _85/3/14_ over Cas’ head was enough for him.

 


	2. Call Me Beautiful

Castiel’s father wasn’t abusive at first, he was a kind man for the first seven years of Castiel’s life, and often, Castiel cherished the memory of him. He would tell Castiel stories of his mother, how she used to be, what she used to look like- (“You have her eyes,” he said one day. “I look at you, I see Evelin.”)- what she used to like to do; Castiel listened and held each word in the palm of his hand. It was warm and beautiful like a blooming flower. Castiel wondered if wanting to be beautiful was too girly to want for himself, but he held that thought behind his heart. He yearned for a lover one day to call him beautiful.

To this day, Castiel wasn’t sure exactly what set him off. After his eighth birthday, his father started sitting closer and closer; he would touch his arm and lean in close to his face. Castiel didn’t know the signs, and even if he did, he wouldn’t know what to do about it. His father would start complimenting him in the smallest ways, each kiss to his cheek lingered longer, his eyes were prodding and dissecting. The first time it happened, he was drunk.

He came home, breath reeking of liquor. Castiel was on the sofa watching cartoons when the door opened loudly and slammed shut again. Castiel’s head snapped around, frightened of the noise, but his eyes softened when he saw it was only Dad. He was slurring words that Castiel didn’t understand, but he nodded throughout the one-sided conversation. His father stomped sloppily into the kitchen and got out a plate of whatever leftovers there were from the night before. The TV hummed in cheery voices and bright colors.

The sofa sunk down where Castiel’s father sat down, slinging food into his mouth without much grace. Bites fell from his mouth and onto his shirt that was already stained with beer. He slurred out another string of sentences and Castiel acted like he knew what he was saying. It wasn’t the first time his father would come back after a long day at work drunk. His father would be coherent again in the morning if not slightly grumpy and hungover.

His father looked deep into his eyes and slurred out something else and Castiel nodded again in acknowledgement. His father smiled crookedly and stuffed some more food into his mouth, chewing with his mouth open. Colors from the TV flashed over the profile of his face. Castiel watched the screen, smile curling around his lips as the characters made a joke.

“‘er so pr’tty Ev’lin,” his words were sloppy like chicken noodle soup on a plate. “So pr’tty.”

His father was leaning over his shoulder, breathing next to his ear. His breath was hot and heavy on his neck when Castiel felt his lips touch him, wet and sloppy. He broke away from him, confused and dazed under lack of understanding.

“Dad? What are you doing?”

His father got over top of him, Castiel’s back pressed to the cushions of the couch. Castiel’s eyes were wide, confused and the first spark of fear ignited in his heart. His father was so large over top of him. He felt a dark shadow cast over him.

“Dad, I’m scared,” he said quietly, voice shaking. “You’re scaring me.”

“Shhhhh,” his voice wavered, dipped down quietly and then raised in volume. He hushed his son and stared only at his eyes. “L’v you,” he said, “Ev’lin, miss you.”

“D-Dad, I’m not mom,” Castiel’s words were rushed together. “I-”

His father mouth crashed down on top of Castiel’s own painfully, teeth clashing like swords in battle. His strong hands were pulling at Castiel’s clothes, holding him still as he tried to wriggle out of his grip. He was too frail and weak to get out of his father’s arms. His body was crushing him under the weight. He could hardly breathe. His father was muttering more things that Castiel couldn’t understand through his panicked mind.

“Dad- Stop it- I don’t-” Castiel couldn’t get the words out. His clothes were being ripped off. The air chilled his skin and goosebumps rose on his body. He started crying. He was scared. “Dad! Dad stop!” he shouted through his tears.

“No! Ev’lin why-” he hiccupped, “Evelin, love me!” he shouted out and ripped the rest of Castiel’s clothes off his body. He bruised his arm with his grip. “Love me! You love me!” he yelled hysterically.  

Everything was painful and Castiel forbids himself from remembering anything that happened. Everything was a blur of screaming and sobbing and weak hits. His father whispered about how beautiful he was, except he used female pronouns and called Castiel “Evelin.”

He woke up the next day and remembered nothing.

Castiel fell asleep to the claws of nightmares, dripping and disgusting and filled with crude whispers and perverted touches. He distanced himself in school and from his father. His father didn’t know what he’d done to make Castiel become so withdrawn. Castiel refused to tell him. After two months, Castiel forgave his father. He didn’t know what he was doing. He didn’t know it wasn’t his late wife. It wasn’t his fault, it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t mean to do it, Castiel chanted this daily. He woke up in a cold sweat with the ghost of hands everywhere on him and pain burning through his body, through his screaming throat.

It happened again; he wasn’t drunk this time.  
He said it was owed to him. Castiel stole his wife, so he had to replace her. Castiel wondered if he sobbed enough and writhed in his arms, if he screamed enough maybe his father would stop or let him go, but he never did. He was twelve, going to school and starting to hear people talking about sex and gossipping about how great it was supposed to be. His math teacher was pregnant and had to miss months of school. He felt horrible and cried to himself. He couldn’t believe she had to go through what he went through every other month or so.

He stayed after class one day and looked at her.

“Sorry,” he said softly. “It’s okay.”

She looked up confused. “Sorry? For what?” she shook her head.

“Didn’t it hurt?” he asked.

“What hurt?”

Castiel gestured to her baby bump.

She smiled at him. Why did she smile? “It hurts a little, but it’s all right.”

“You didn’t cry?” he asked as if he was inspired. Like it was his new goal for next time it happened, he wasn’t going to cry. He was going to be tough like his teacher. “You didn’t scream either?”

She looked at him as if she was horrified. “Castiel? What- No, of course not! Why would I..?” she never finished her sentence.

Castiel nodded. “Oh. Okay. See you tomorrow.”

Castiel went home and bit his lip until it bled, and held in his sobs and screams as his father violated him. He left Castiel on the floor of the family room, bleeding and broken and spent. His father left small whispers in his ear, that he was so pretty, so beautiful, Evelin. Castiel hated the twist up his chest when he was called beautiful. He wanted to be beautiful, like his mom. He wanted to see a picture of her.

The next day at school, his teacher asked to see him after class. She sat in the desk beside him when everyone else left.

“Hello,” she said softly.

“Hi.”

“How are you?”

“I’m good.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

She nodded, looking down at the desk she sat in. there was a small doodle of a flower in pencil on it. She sighed softly and looked back up at him.

“I’m going to ask you a serious question, and I want you to be honest, okay?”

Castiel nodded, confused.

“Did anyone ever try to touch you where they’re not supposed to?”

Castiel looked at her wide-eyed. He didn’t know how she found out. He looked down and shifted his feet. He didn’t know if he was supposed to say anything.

“You can tell me, if anyone has. I can try to help you.”

Castiel nodded quickly before he could change his mind.

Castiel’s teacher looked so distraught, her face torn up. “It’s okay,” she said softly and pulled him into a hug. Castiel felt his heart jump and he pushed her away, already feeling tears brim at his eyes and his throat ready to tear open in a scream.

She looked so broken.

“S-Sorry- I just- I got scared-” he started to apologize.

“No, it’s all right. You’ve done nothing wrong. I should have known better.”

They sat quietly next to each other before his teacher sighed softly and rubbed her eyes as if she was trying to keep herself from crying. Castiel didn’t understand why she was so upset. Someone touched her like that, why was it so bad when someone did it to him, too?

“All right, can you stay here a moment?” she asked and stood and used the phone in the classroom to call the office.

It was all rushed after that. Someone came to the door and Castiel’s teacher whispered to him and he whispered back. They would glance at Castiel and then whisper some more. It was like they were CIA or something. They took Castiel to a little room where there was a really nice lady that asked him questions about his life at home. Castiel shrugged, mumbling, he didn’t lie. He knew lying was a bad thing to do.

The next thing he knew, he was told he was going to be okay, that his dad wouldn’t hurt him anymore, that his dad couldn’t even see him anymore, and Castiel didn’t understand. Even though his dad hurt him a lot, there were so many good memories that made Castiel upset he couldn’t see his dad anymore. He would never get to watch cartoons with him ever again or cook spaghetti with him, he told Castiel he would teach him to grill next year. Still, they all looked super serious, like CIA people again, so Castiel didn’t argue. He was put in custody of his uncle on his mother’s side, Gabriel.

Gabriel lived one state over since he went to university there when he was younger. He was almost thirty now. He greeted Castiel with wide arms and looked at him in that I’m-So-Sorry-For-You way that everyone else did. Castiel felt like he was in a dark room. Why was everyone so sorry for him? He wanted to break something, but breaking things was bad, so he didn’t.

Castiel got his own room at Gabriel’s house. When he told Gabriel that he shared a room with his dad at his other house he got that same pitiful look. Castiel really hated that look. Gabriel took him to a store and let him pick out posters and rugs and blankets and pillows for his new room. Castiel was turning thirteen, and going through his last year of junior high school.

Castiel soon learned that he looked different. He had wide eyes and had heightened reaction senses. When anyone touched him he would flinch and try to throw himself to the other side of the room. It was terrifying when someone touched him. It felt like fingers burned. Unfortunately, touching and high-fiving and hugs were normal in teenagers, so Castiel had to cope. He nailed a mask on and screamed on the inside. He became so unapproachable that no one tried to be friends with him. Castiel liked this a lot better than having the unscratchable itch to run and cry.

Gabriel was overly kind to him. He never said no unless it was harmful to his health. It was infuriating. Sometimes Castiel just wanted Gabriel to say “No you can’t get ice cream tonight.” There wasn’t anything he could do, though. He liked Gabriel, nonetheless. He gave Castiel space and didn’t feel upset when Castiel stood two feet away from him at all times. It wasn’t like he stood any closer to anyone else.

Castiel liked learning. It was an escape. He loved to sing and he loved to learn. He played music loudly and closed the door to his room, stepping outside to see how loud it could go without being heard. The walls were thick enough that he could sing quietly without anyone hearing.

He was self-conscious, of course, he still wanted to be called beautiful, and though he told himself he long since gave up on that dream, he never really gave up. He looked in the mirror and wondered what what supposed to be beautiful. He hung a towel over the mirror and then went to his bed. He stared up at the ceiling and sung to himself until he heard footsteps outside and stopped. Gabriel knocked and opened the door to ask if hamburgers were okay for dinner. They were.

High school was Hell, and that was an understatement. For some ludicrous reason, it was great fun and hilarious to make others feel less of themselves. Apparently, sex was all there was to being a great person. It was unspoken that Castiel had a vow he would never allow himself to love someone. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. His father loved him, he felt Castiel in his hands and broke him through his knuckles, bleeding palms and all, he dropped him onto the floor and stepped over the shards. Castiel wondered if his father looked any different than he did since the last time they saw each other.

Dean Winchester, Castiel still cringes at the name, made his life better if only he was six feet under. He didn’t know what he ever did to deserve to be stabbed through the back daily. He didn’t know why Dean was so fascinated with taunting him. He would constantly stare at him in classes (he had four without him).

Castiel walked home that day and locked himself in his room. He yanked his shirt off and avoided the mirror. He crumpled it into a ball in his lap and stared at it. He stared at it and stared at it and stared at it.

Your shirt looks stupid.

Castiel put a hand inside  the sleeve, staring at the shape it made. He wondered if it was the color or style that made it ugly. It was blue, like his eyes. He wondered if his eyes were ugly, too. They probably were. Castiel threw the shirt under his bed and pulled the sheets on his bed over his body. He felt his arms press against his bare chest and felt the urge to scream. He hated it. He hated his body, his arms, his chest, his face, his eyes, his everything- he threw the sheets off his body and put on a sweatshirt.

He sang quietly to himself. It was wordless. It was wordless like he was hopeless.

~~*~~

It was really just one sentence that broke everything Castiel ever tried to build up. And leave it to Dean fucking Winchester to bring it upon him, too. He didn’t really know why he didn’t try sooner. He didn’t know why he didn’t realize it first himself, that no one wants him, needs him, will ever love him, etc. He just wanted it all to end, he had never wanted anything more in his life than he wanted to die right then. It felt like the first shred of light in his dark life, and when he pushed past him to just do it, he heard Dean call after him.

Castiel wanted to laugh. Wanted to scream. It was so obvious. Castiel knew his Numbers changed, the Numbers above his head that showed his day of death, he knew they changed. This gave him an odd sense of excitement. It was disgusting how much he wanted to die. But then, that’s who he is. Disgusting.

He could feel himself crying and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was his body’s protest. Some selfish want of his flesh to live. He didn’t have anything to live for, he never did. Maybe he would want to compose music some day, or even become a teacher like the teacher that saved him. He didn’t know what would have happened to him, how he would have turned out if his father was still there behind each door of his home.

He swiped a hand across his cheek and fought the urge to sob. He just… He just wanted to to be over. The thought of finality gave him the first spark of hope he’d had in seven years. A car drove up beside him from where he was walking on the grass beside the road. It wasn’t passing him, just driving along side him.

“Kid, get in.”

Castiel wanted to laugh. Dean Winchester was so insane.

“Fuck off,” he opted for.

“He speaks!” Dean teased and Castiel grit his teeth in anger. He wanted to break that car window that was rolled halfway down.

“Fuck off,” he said with a bit more conviction.

“The same words but-”

Castiel wouldn’t allow him to finish. He erupted in pent up frustration, “What the hell do you want, Dean Winchester?

“I already told you. Get in.”

Castiel hugged his coat around his body and walked faster. “And I already told you to fuck off.”

“I’ll drive you home,” Dean offered.

“I’ll be home in twenty minutes if I walk,” Castiel said deadpan.

“Ten if I drive you.”

Castiel stopped and stared at the blades of grass poking around his shoes. Would he really get in the car with the man that made him want to walk into the sea with a millstone around his neck? It wasn’t Dean’s fault he was worthless though, he just pointed it out. Castiel sighed and walked around to get in the car. Relief washed over Dean’s face and Castiel didn’t understand why. Dean took off fast.

“Turn here,” Castiel didn’t have to sit long in silence because his street wasn’t that far up.

Castiel could have sworn they sped up instead when he should have turned.

“You missed it! Just stop. I’ll walk if you weren’t serious.”

“I am serious.”

“Let me out!” Castiel argued.

Dean shouted, “No!”

The urge to die overwhelmed him and in a split moment he really really really wanted to open the door and jump out. He’d probably die on impact by how fast they were going, and if he didn’t, another car would hit him. Seemed like a nice plan to be honest.

“Then I’ll jump out!”

The words hardly left his lips before Dean’s face contorted into something of horror and anger, “Don’t you fucking dare!” he shouted. “What the hell is your problem?”

“You are! Let me the fuck out of your car!”

“No!”

Castiel’s heart thudded in his chest and he felt pins and needles poking all over him. He didn’t understand, he didn’t understand, he just didn’t understand why Dean would be against him dying. “So what? You’re kidnapping me? You want to rape me too? I thought I was too disgusting!”

“Shut up! I didn’t mean any of that shit!” Dean’s voice shook. Castiel didn’t understand why.

“Sure,” he said bitterly. “Do me a favor and drive us off a cliff.”

They fell quiet after that. Castiel looked out the window lack of anything else to do. He didn’t want to look at Dean. He wondered where he was being taken. His fingers wrapped around the door handle. He really wanted to jump out. He didn’t though. He wanted to know why Dean was trying to stop him. Rock music filled the car and Castiel realized Dean probably switched the radio on. It wasn’t that bad of music. The singer’s voice was nice. He’d heard it once or twice before. He had the urge to sing or hum along, but there’s no way he would do that with Dean in the car.

“What kind of music is this?” he asked softly.

Dean looked at him like he just asked who the first president of the United States was. “You don’t know Led Zeppelin?”

“No,” Castiel admitted.

“Seriously?”

Castiel hummed or made some kind of noise. He wasn’t even sure what is was. He slumped against the window again. He felt like it was getting too intimate. He knew something about Dean now, he loved Led Zeppelin, and he wasn’t supposed to know things like that. This was Dean Winchester. He was Castiel Novak. It was like trying to glue two wrong puzzle pieces together. His heart felt calmer. There were many, many things Castiel didn’t understand.

“Well what kind of music do you like?” Dean broke the silence.

“Shut up,” Castiel said abruptly. What was he trying to be his friend after all these years of torment?

“What?” Dean sounded so fucking innocent it made Castiel want to hit him. He never did though.

“What?” Castiel glared at him. “What?” he repeated, “You fucking demean me for years, torture me emotionally and act like my heart and soul is your toy to play with like every other one is- Oh apparently Dean Winchester is God in this fucked up world! So you go too far one day, you see my Numbers because why the fuck else would you ever give a shit about me other than to be a hero and save my life? Well I don’t fucking want to be saved so take me the fuck home!”

“You curse too much.”

That whole rant and Dean comments on his language? Castiel was on fire, about to erupt.

“Shut the fuck up and take me home!”

“No! Kid-”

“Stop calling me ‘kid!’”

“Cas-” Dean corrected himself. “You got a lot of life ahead of you don’t just throw it away because I’m an asshole.”

Castiel laughed humorlessly. “Dean Winchester insulting himself. Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Look, I-” Dean was stuttering. “This sounds really stupid but that’s only because I’m really stupid, I just wanted you to fight back against me. I thought if I went to far you’d hit me or something. You never react at anything.”

Castiel’s blood was boiling. He was close to breaking something in the car. “So I’m your fucking project? Let’s string up the freak and poke him until he wants to die. Sounds like so much fun.”

“No! Look, you’re not a freak or stupid or ugly or disgusting or anything else I called you, I just-”

“You don’t understand, Winchester,” Cas stopped him, “It’s not you. Yeah, sure, you pointed it out and shit but that doesn’t make it any less true. I’m a bastard child that killed his mother, what else do I need to do to deserve to die? My mother was- I’m sure she was a perfectly nice, beautiful woman and because she chose me over an abortion she died. It should have been me so I’m putting it right.”

Dean slammed on the brakes and Castiel’s head hit the back of the seat. Castiel’s hand scrambled for the door handle, having fallen off when the car stopped, but Dean was too fast and got there before him. He was leaning over him, so so so so so so so so so so so fucking close. It made Castiel’s heart beat faster and faster and he almost screamed. He could feel Dean breathing on him, he could feel it, but it felt different somehow. It wasn’t heavy and deliberate. It was urgent and tender. Panicked. Why was Dean panicked?

“I was wrong, don’t you fucking get that-”

“No! No, I don’t get it!”

How could Dean even begin to think that he was wrong with what he said?

“You listened to me when I insulted you so listen to me as I set it straight!”

Dean raised his voice and it really did make sense. Castiel didn’t know why he only listened to Dean while he said things negative. He quieted, heart thundering. He looked up at him, feeling fright grab at his soul but it couldn’t quite reach him. He bit his lip. Dean was looking at him strangely.

“You’re worth it,” is what Dean said when he finally spoke. His voice was sweet like a lullaby. “I don’t care who tells you otherwise- I don’t care if it’s me- You’re worth it. If you leave like that you’ll regret it, there’s so much you want to do with life. You’re just- Don’t, please don’t do it, I couldn’t live with myself if you-” his words found their graves.

Castiel felt choked. How could anyone say something like that to him? That somehow he’d be missed? That somehow he deserved to live? That he was worth it? Castiel couldn’t wrap his mind around it, but with Dean being so close, staring so intently, Castiel couldn’t bring himself to fight. His heart fell in his chest. He felt defeated.

“I should,” he said slowly, softly. “To show you what a fucking asshole you are.”

“I am,” Dean sounded relieved. Why was he relieved?

“You are,” Castiel muttered again. For no reason. Why did he say it again?

But then Dean said it again, too, “I am,” he said.

“Yeah,” their voices were like birds in the sky. He wondered how Dean sounded when he sang.

They were so close.

“We should go out to dinner or something,” Dean said abruptly.

Castiel took a deep breath as if it would calm his heart. It didn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to say yes. He couldn’t bring himself to say no.

He blurted, “I don’t like Italian.”

A smile cracked into Dean’s worried face. “Chinese?” he suggested.

Castiel nodded. Dean gazed at him so intently, like he was the only thing in the world. Castiel could hardly breathe. For a terrifyingly hopeful moment, Castiel thought Dean was going to kiss him but he let out a huff of breath that fell over Castiel’s lips and Dean leaned back in his chair again as if he was collecting himself. Castiel wondered why the thought of Dean kissing him wasn’t as revolting as it should be.

He pulled his trench coat tight over his body and stared a hole through the glass of the window. He did not want to think about things like that nonetheless about Dean Winchester. As if he would ever look at Castiel in that light. He built up bigger, thicker walls around him. He could never let himself fall for Dean. He could feel it. He could feel it, he wanted to. He wanted nothing more than to let himself gaze at Dean’s lips in the way Dean gazed at his own. He wanted Dean to call him beautiful. No one else mattered anymore. No one. He just wanted Dean to say it.

He pulled at his hair and didn’t realize when the car stopped outside a Chinese restaurant. Dean looked at him in that adoring way that made Castiel want to hide and step closer at the same time until Castiel shook himself from his thoughts and opened the door. He didn’t know when the longing for an end had passed. It was replaced with a longing for Dean.

They ordered a large chicken fried rice and ate out of the carton with two spoons. It was so simple and Castiel didn’t know why he felt so alive. Gabriel was probably wondering where he was, Castiel realized belatedly and he fished his phone out of his backpack to text him. He could feel Dean watching him. When he leaned back, Dean leaned forward. They moved together. It was like they were connected at the heart by a string.

After Castiel sent a message that he was eating Chinese with a friend, Dean asked, “Can I see your phone?”

Castiel looked at him strangely. “What? Why?”

“Just-” Dean opened his palm and moved it around.

Castiel looked from the hand to Dean’s eyes and sighed before he placed his phone in his hand. He didn’t know why. He shouldn’t have. He definitely shouldn’t have. Dean did things to him, tricked him, taunted him-

This was all some big joke.

A big prank.

Castiel felt cold.

Dean was still messing around with his phone and Castiel wanted to lurch over the table and steal it back. He didn’t need to, though, because Dean handed it back in a few seconds.

Castiel stared down blankly at his contacts.

Gabriel.

Dean.

Castiel looked back up at Dean in confusion. “Why-”

“Just in case,” Dean said hurriedly. “Like just in case you get down or something again, just text or call me or whatever.”

Castiel couldn’t help himself, he said, “You feel sorry for me. Is that it?”

“What? I don’t-”  
“You know what happened to me, and to add to it, I’m fucking suicidal, and you feel sorry for me. Now you look at me like every other fucking person who knows.”

“No! I-”

“This is a joke then!” Castiel stood up and wanted to run out the door. “Waiting for the cameras and stupid jocks and-”

“Has it ever occured to you that I just care about you?” Dean interrupted loudly. A few heads turned their way.

Castiel looked down at the floor. “No,” he said, “It hasn’t because you don’t.”

“You can’t just tell me what I feel!” Dean argued. He was standing, too, now. “I was a fucking idiot okay? I mess with people, I didn’t really realize that had this type of serious consequences, but I never wanted this to become of you, okay?”

“So I’m your charity project.”

“No!” Dean shouted, sounding frustrated.

“Then what is it?”

“Can’t I just want to be your- friend?”

Castiel felt like he was standing ankle deep in the waves on the beach. He couldn’t fathom how someone as perfect and beautiful as Dean would want to bother with something like him.

“No,” Castiel choked out. “You can’t.”

“Why not?” Dean asked exasperated.

Castiel could feel people watching them. Why did they have to start this in a restaurant? He felt like he was trapped in a TV screen. In an alternate universe, maybe he was.

“Because I’m wrong,” Castiel blurted. “I’m fucked up and broken and stupid and you’re the perfect Dean Winchester. Just- Just stop it.”

“Can’t you just let me try?” Dean asked softly. “Look, I don’t know where you get these ideas- Well, I mean- You know- I know I said- But I lied okay? You’re really attractive and your eyes are so beautiful and I just- You’re not stupid or broken, or if you are maybe that makes you even more beautiful.”

Castiel couldn’t breathe.

Beautiful, he thought, he called me beautiful.

“Really?” he asked in a small voice.

“Yeah,” Dean said sheepishly. Castiel saw Dean starting to blush, realizing all of what

he just said.

Castiel was quiet, trying to hide a small smile on his lips. He grabbed the carton of rice that was now kind of cold but he stuffed a spoonful in his mouth anyways and walked out the door, expecting Dean would follow him. He did. People were still watching them as they left and Castiel half thought they would clap but they didn’t.

“Can I eat it in your car?” Castiel asked. He didn’t know if Dean was strict about food in the car.

“Sure.”

Castiel nodded and slid into his seat. He spooned more and more in just to keep himself busy. His mind was buzzing. He felt kind of giddy. He looked up at Dean for a second and then immediately regretted it because Dean was already staring at him. He looked back down and felt his face heat up. What was wrong with him?

“You’re smiling,” Dean said, kind of awed.

Castiel touched his puffy, rice-filled cheeks. “Mm.”

A grin stretched over Dean’s face. “I like it when you smile.”

Castiel wanted to hide for an altogether different reason and stuffed another spoonful of rice into his mouth. He felt happy. Like really happy for the first time since he can remember. Dean chuckled beside him and Castiel realized he probably looked ridiculous. He couldn’t chew there was so much food in his mouth. This was a bad idea, looking back at it.

They got to Castiel’s house and Gabriel poked his head by the window and smiled at him. Castiel got out of the car and offered Dean the rest of the rice, but Dean just said since he liked it so much, he could keep it. Castiel’s face flushed and he nodded.

“You’ll text me, right?” Dean rushed in before Castiel could close the door.

Castiel looked at his bag and back up at Dean. He didn’t respond. He quickly closed the door and rushed inside. Gabriel was asking him all kinds of questions like who he was and if they had fun and things like that. Castiel pulled out his phone and nodded all throughout the inquiry.

Dean received a text.

Yeah.


	3. We Ate Chinese, but it Wasn't a Date

Castiel held his phone to his chest and fell deeper into his sheets. His heart thumped loudly in his chest and he could swear he could hear it over the blaring music. He turned it up another notch, half afraid Gabriel would come in and ask him to turn it down, half not even caring if it'd just get him to stop thinking about Dean Winchester. The last person on the damn Earth that Castiel would have imagined to speak to of his own freewill now made his heart jump through his rib cage. Whoever said that life wasn't fair, well they'd probably agree that it also made absolutely no sense.

Castiel swallowed and jumped when his phone vibrated. It hardly ever did that.

_Dean: You okay?_

Castiel held the phone tightly in his hands, rereading the message a few times before he decided on what to reply with, a simple "yes," and he could have laughed that it took him nearly four minutes to come up with a single word. He was still uncertain of Dean's motivations and of his heart, Castiel reminded himself, best not to get too attached. First friend since ever, first name in his cellphone other than Gabriel, don't get too attached.

_Dean: Good._

Castiel heard Gabriel call something to him that got lost in his music, which meant he was probably going to come upstairs to tell him and then turn the music down a bit while he's at it, and then ask Castiel if anything is the matter. Gabriel is kind and means well, but he's so predictable Castiel sometimes wondered if he were trying to be something he wasn't, but aren't we all like that? All puppets on a string, trying to act out in this fucked up play just to get to the applause at the end.

"Potatoes and steak all right for dinner?" Gabriel interrupted Castiel's wandering thoughts. His eyes were lighter and face happier than the days before.

"Of course. Anything is fine," Castiel said loud enough to hear himself over his music, and like he expected, Gabriel walked over and twisted the volume knob down.

"It's ready when you want some. Come downstairs soon."

"I will. Thank you."

The door closed.

Castiel collected his mind from the floor and stretched his arms above his head. His hair swooshed in front of his eyes and he ran his fingers through it. The towel over the mirror stared blatantly back at him; Castiel turned away from it and walked downstairs to join Gabriel.

* * *

If Castiel were expecting school to go any differently, he would have been completely wrong. But he didn't expect it, so he wasn't disappointed in any way. Castiel didn't eat lunch, took notes in his classes without drawing any attention towards him, and hid in the library until everyone else had left school. He didn't see Dean at all, and he berated himself for believing Dean and he were anything more than I'm-sorry-you-wanted-to-kill-yourself-so-I'll-make-you-feel-better-for-the-day relationship.

Castiel sighed softly to himself and snapped his book shut with more force than he meant to. He stood and kept his head down as he hurried out of the library. The hallways were empty which caused a small spark of relief to spread like wildfire through his chest. His phone buzzed in his backpack and he flinched, looking behind him to see if there was another person with their phone out worthy of friends or texts. He was still alone.

_Dean: I didn't get to see you today. Where do you go for lunch?_

Castiel breathed heavily, standing still in the middle of the hallways and clutching his phone tightly. It was a flip phone, easier for calling, which was all he'd ever done. Texting proved to be a challenge, but the excitement of finally having someone to text balanced it out.

_Castiel: I don't eat lunch._

The response was immediate:  _That's no good. You should eat._

_Castiel: I eat enough at home._

Castiel took a slow step forward when he remembered he should have been walking home already. His steps gradually got faster until he was at a regular pace, staring down at his phone as if it held the secrets to the world. It buzzed again, alive in his hands.

_Dean: Favorite food?_

Castiel thought for a moment. He never really thought about favorite anything, only what he needed to stay what most would deem healthy. He didn't think "I don't know" would be a sufficient response, so instead he replied what he had for dinner last night.

_Castiel: Potatoes and steak._

Just barely after he sent the message, Dean had already sent another.

_Dean: Pie._

_Castiel: What?_

_Dean: Pie._

_Castiel: I don't understand._

_Dean: If you don't understand what pie is we're going to have to rethink this relationship._

Castiel almost stopped breathing. Something as simple as this he couldn't comprehend, and it was something as great as to challenge frienship or whatever the hell he and Dean were. Castiel felt incompetent. His mind started racing to corners he tried to forget- he needed to escape. He needed-

 _Dean: Hey, I was kidding._  His phone received another text after a few minutes.

Blank-minded, Castiel wrote, "Oh."

_Dean: You thought I was serious?_

_Dean: I'm not that much of a jerk._

_Dean: I meant that pie is my favorite food._

"Oh," Castiel wrote again. He didn't know how he could feel so safe with something that once made him feel in danger. This was all some huge joke, some big facade, something to break Castiel further; his hands shook. He now knew two things about Dean Winchester: his favorite food was pie and he loved Led Zepplin.

His phone buzzed again. And again. And again. Gabriel's name lit up on the screen. Castiel felt relief wash over him and he answered quickly.

"Hello?"

"Where are you? Are you all right?"

Castiel realized he'd gotten only halfway home. He said, "I stayed at the library a little late. I'll be home soon."

He could hear Gabriel's smile as he said, "Okay. Is spaghetti okay for dinner?"

"Of course."

There wasn't any word of goodbye when the call ended. Castiel breathed out shakily and stared down at Dean's texts. He decided to leave them unanswered and closed his phone and slipped it back into his backpack. Picking up the pace, he hurried home, wishing the day on faster.

Gabriel greeted him as he always did when Castiel got home. He regular questions came and went such as how was school? and do you have homework? With a "good" and a "no," Castiel passed him and shrugged his backpack off by the sofa. Dinner was ready on the table, and though Castiel was not hungry, he ate. Castiel hardly ever felt hunger, but knew to eat to avoid questions. His fork was heavy between his fingers and the pasta heavier on his tongue.

"How's Dean?" heaviest was the question Gabriel asked in the lasting silence.

Castiel's head snapped up, but he remained quiet.

"The boy who drove you home yesterday? Are you guys good friends?" Gabriel ate another bite of spaghetti.

"Um, yeah, I guess," Castiel answered vaguely.

He ducked his head and stuffed more food into his mouth. Not quite knowing what Dean was to him, he wasn't sure what to say to Gabriel about him. They hardly knew each other. They were strangers. Castiel wanted to laugh. Friends? They were hardly acquaintances. He felt his heart beating too quickly for his liking and he dropped his fork.

"I'm tired," Castiel said suddenly. "May I be excused?"

Gabriel only nodded and Castiel hardly looked at him twice before he bounded upstairs. He turned his music on with the intention of it being quiet, but with thoughts of Dean swarming and screaming, the volume knob might as well have moved of its own volition. Castiel clapped his hands over his ears, and if that worked for thoughts, too, he would live as a sane man.

But it didn't. Castiel fought the scream clawing its way up his throat and pulled his sheets over his head. He didn't know how he could yearn for someone so much when at the same time he ran from them.

* * *

Castiel picked his books up from the floor, grimacing as some cheese stuck to the cover of one. He sighed softly, realizing this was the reason he probably shouldn't come to the cafeteria when the library was so much safer. There weren't assholes there to make him feel less of himself, and at this point in Castiel's life, he wondered if it were possible to feel less. He'd clean the book off in the bathroom.

"Cas! Hey!" he heard just before he could leave.

His heart stopped in his chest as he turned slowly to face the voice. He didn't say anything, just staring at Dean, his eyes, mostly.

"You okay?" Dean asked, and Castiel really wished people would stop asking him that. He should change his name to "Okay" just to tell people: Yes! I  _am_  Okay, thank you for asking.

Still, a question like that should only be answered the same every way, "Yes."

Dean nodded wordlessly and his eyes flickered back to the table he was sitting at. Two girls and a few guys were staring at them, looking as if they really wished they had popcorn or something. Castiel, once again, felt inadequate.

He turned to leave, but Dean called after him, "Where are you going?"

Castiel shrugged and left the cafeteria. Dean wasn't behind him or anything if that's what he thought might happen. Castiel pushed another breath out of his mouth and set his books down on the bathroom counter. Cleaning the food off of his reading book, he felt somewhat uplifted when the cheese was gone. Castiel picked up the rest of his books and groaned when he realized he set them down somewhere wet.

Lunch ended too early and Castiel hurried to English class. He crumpled over the top of his desk tiredly and waited for more kids to pile in. He was normally early.

"What's up?" someone asked him and his head snapped up from his desk. It was a girl with red hair, one he'd seen sitting at Dean's table. "You're Castiel, right?"

Castiel was quiet for a few moments before he answered, "Yes."  _Who are you,_  he thought but didn't ask.

"I'm Charlie," the girl answered his unspoken words.

Castiel watched bemusedly as she took a seat beside him and began to unpack her things. They had assigned seats, but the teacher wasn't too particular about it as long as there was no disruption. Charlie didn't look at him until she was done and her pencils were out on her desk with her notebook. She leaned her elbow on the desk and turned to face him.

"So. You and Dean," was all she said.

Castiel blinked. "I don't understand."

"Are you guys together?"

Castiel watched her slowly and his eyebrows pinched together in confusion. "No," he replied carefully. They went to dinner once, he hardly thought that counted as a date.

 _He called you beautiful,_  his mind supplied, but he pushed it down and locked it away.

" _Reeeeally_?" Charlie drawled out with a sloppy smile on her lips. "Because I heard that you guys went on a date. Yesterday- No, two days ago."

Castiel shifted in his seat uncomfortably. "We ate Chinese, but it wasn't a date."

Judging by Charlie's face she didn't buy it. She couldn't say anything else, thankfully, because class started.

* * *

News, apparently, spread quickly (probably due to Charlie texting under desk half the class period) because he found Dean in the library after school.

"We aren't dating?"

"No," Castiel replied, baffled. "I hardly know you. I properly met you two days ago."

Dean stuffed his hands into his pockets. "That's why we should date. To get to know each other," he smiled.

Castiel's eyes darted away. His life was much less complicated before he met Dean; Castiel pondered the reality he may live in never having met Dean. His chest felt colder, which was absolutely stupid, seeing as just last week Dean was making Castiel's life a living Hell.

Suddenly Dean was closer, so close, like really  _really_  close, like probably only  _four steps away_  close. Castiel's hands shook at his sides and he fought the urge to leap backwards. This was normal, this was  _normal_ , he chanted to himself, it's  _normal_  to stand so close to someone.

"At least let me drive you home, then," Dean brought a hammer to Castiel's worries. Somehow his voice was so calming.

Castiel nodded slowly, starting to follow behind Dean as he walked through the library door. There had to have been a good five feet between them, and Dean glanced over his shoulder a few times to make sure Castiel was following. There were still some kids hanging out or waiting for their parents to pick them up, but for the most part the school was quiet. Castiel found it pleasant.

Dean's car was exactly as he remembered it, a dark sheet of ebony cast overtop, clean and pristine as if he'd bought it just yesterday. Dean ran his hand over the hood with a lopsided smile and pulled the door open. Castiel opened the door much slower than Dean had and settled tentatively in the seat as if the car would spit him back out if he didn't sit right.

The car came to life, and Dean started talking senseless words, nothings to fill the air, something Castiel had never understood. Dean's eyes flickered from the top of Castiel's head to his chest and to the seat and back up.

"Seat belt," Dean reminded, which probably explained his expectant eyes and the immobile car.

"Right," Castiel mumbled, pulling the thing over his shoulder.

When it clicked, Dean started driving. Castiel fell breathless as he was allowed to gaze at Dean without his knowing. He had freckles dusted over his cheekbones and nose that Castiel hadn't noticed before. His jaw shifted slightly and Castiel's eyes followed the movement. The world was so much quieter, so much more peaceful. If only wishes on stars were granted Castiel would have wished for this moment to never end.

All the sudden Dean's eyes snapped right to Castiel's and Castiel's lungs were robbed clean. He quickly looked at his hands in his lap and fought the blush creeping up his neck. But he could  _feel_  it, feel Dean's eyes crawling over his face like an ant.

"Y'know, if you say you don't wanna date me you shouldn't look at me like that," the eyes went away. Castiel could breathe again. "People might get the wrong idea. Kinda intense."

 _I never said I didn't want to date you,_  Castiel didn't say, because Castiel doesn't date. Ever. Castiel didn't even have friends. He wanted to respond, but in lack of things to say, he stayed silent. He was nearly home, anyways. The car hummed and came to a stop.

"Thank you," Castiel said softly though sincerely. He grabbed his bag and opened the door.

"This could be a regular thing, you know," Dean said a bit louder, quicker, urgently, just as Castiel's foot touched the driveway. In response to Castiel's questioning gaze, Dean added, "Me driving you home, I mean."

"I wouldn't want to bother you," Castiel fidgeted with the strap of his backpack.

Dean insisted, "It's no bother," and gave Castiel a small smile that made his heart drive upwards in his chest.

Castiel looked towards the front door, remembering Gabriel's questions of Dean. Gabriel would probably like that Castiel had made a friend, (if that's even what Dean was to him.) His eyes were wide and he looked back at Dean whose eyes changed its light.

Words jumbled together, Castiel hardly made out, "I'd like that," before he ran to the front door. Dean's classic car was still sitting there when the door closed.


	4. It's Stupid

Dean watched the door Castiel just disappeared behind. It was stupid how fire just shot up inside him, how it spread from his heart to the tips of his fingers to his knees and his feet; Dean pressed his forehead to the steering wheel and let out a deep breath. This  _wasn't_  happening, because this was deeper than the stupid crush he felt when he first saw Castiel's eyes shine. The last time he felt like this was when he was dating Lisa last year, junior year, before he'd even paid Castiel any attention. He tightened his grip on his jeans and let go again, realizing he should probably be getting home before Cas thought he was some stalker.

He blasted AC/DC all the way home, anything to force away the memory of the last look Cas gave him, excited and bright, not at all the placid, stony face he glued on most days. Great, now he was thinking about it. Dean turned the volume up as loud as he could stand it and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. The streets were near empty, and Dean sped seventy miles an hour in a forty-five zone. When he finally got home he shut the music off, still hearing the faint buzzing of what used to be there. The door opened and shut too easily.

His father wasn't home, but Dean was used to that. Sam, who was sitting on the sofa in front of the TV, turned his head and a smile lit up his face.

"Dean!" he chimed.

Dean ruffled the boy's hair and gave him a crooked smile as he slung his backpack to the other side of the room.

"Hey, Sammy," he said, "Did you eat yet?"

"Yup! Mac 'n cheese."

"That's awesome. Was it good?" Dean was a few steps nearer to his bedroom, but kept his eyes on his brother.

Sam nodded his head wildly. "Want me to make you some?"

"Nah," Dean waved him off. "I got too much homework."

With that, Dean disappeared into his bedroom. He flopped onto his bed and pulled his phone from his back pocket. Part of him wanted to text Castiel, and maybe he could have, maybe he would have, but it doesn't really matter what  _might_  have happened because reality is that he didn't. He scrolled down once and he tapped the next name in his contacts.

_Dean: Emergency._

_Charlie: Does this involve a certain blue-eyed boy?_

_Dean: When were you planning on telling me how you read minds?_

_Charlie: I'll be there in ten minutes._

Dean looked up at the ceiling, in lack of anything to do. His phone lay discarded to his right. What was mistaken for simple fascination was something akin to love at first sight, something that, even if you asked Dean today, he would say he doesn't believe in. He would hardly say what was bundled up, hardly unwanted in his chest was love because love was a fantasy.

It's...  _Stupid_. That the only word Dean can find that fits it. It's  _stupid_  how he could start to feel his insides tangle up at the simple thought of this man, how the memory of any one spoken word could make his insides melt like butter in the microwave. Sharp talons ripped through his rib cage, coated in dark, sticky rejection, he didn't know what his mind could supply that could make this worth it.

 _I know nothing about Castiel!_  scream after scream in his subconscious. He didn't know what music he listened to, what he wore to bed, what he like to put on a sandwich from Subway, hell, how  _much milk he liked in his cereal,_  if he liked cereal at all. He didn't know if Castiel parted his hair on the left or on the right because he hadn't spent enough time staring. He didn't know if Cas shampooed and then conditioned his hair or if he skipped conditioner altogether, he didn't know if he wore chapstick or licked his lips when they were dry, he didn't know if he washed his clothes on the weekends or on a weekday- and the worst above it all is that Dean  _wanted_  to know all of this. He didn't know how he lived before never wondering these things.

This is how love works: You meet. You date. You say, "hey, I really like this person." You screw around, break some feelings, shed some tears. You make up. You say, "hey, I really love this person," "Hey, this is worth it."

This is not how love works: You meet. You spend a good half year trying to make the other person punch you in the face, which actually results in the person you love trying to kill themself. You give them a reason to stay. The person you love doesn't reciprocate, hardly wants to be your friend, and hardly speaks to you. You are somehow stuck in something stupid that people often call "love."

Castiel, beautiful face, beautiful name, beautiful soul, somehow Dean got himself caught in some stupid trap, as if Castiel had hunted many like him before. Dean felt ripped apart and tied, suffocatingly tight, at the same time. How anyone could ever try to call love something great, Dean had no idea. Whoever tried name this thing,  _define_  this thing, deserves a medal, (and honestly, probably got one, too.)

"Hold the applause, it's all right, it's just me," Charlie opened the door without knocking. Dean hardly looked up, so Charlie added, "But a little recognition would be nice."

"I really like Cas," Dean said distantly, eyes wide and upon the ceiling. His arms were outstretched by his sides, hanging off the sides of the bed.

"Well I could have told you that."

"I mean I really really like him," he said softer, hushed, because it scared him how much he had plummeted since yesterday, hell, an hour ago.

Charlie was probably sitting somewhere by Dean's desk, but Dean didn't look at her to make sure. He felt breathless.

"Lisa-kind-of-like?"

"Yeah," Dean whispered, "More."

"Wow."

They fell quiet, and Dean wished she would say something, anything, because the silence allowed Castiel to creep back into his mind, unwelcome yet invited at the same time. Like a dog coming when called, but restricted by a leash.

"Don't you think you're moving too fast?" Yes. "I mean, how long did you know Lisa before you guys got together?"

"Two years. She was on the cheer squad and I was a football player. It's kinda a given."

"And Castiel?"

Dean nearly stopped breathing at even the mention of Castiel's name.  _Stop it, this is stupid._  So fucking stupid, it's fake, it's unreal. "Um. This year. I don't know when." _He was always just kinda there,_  he added in his head.

"Maybe you just feel bad. Protective," Charlie offered.

"Protective?" Dean finally sat up. "How?"

Charlie was, as Dean predicted, sitting at his desk. She had her legs cross and her "thinking face" on, as Dean called it. She sort of scrunched up her nose every once and a while when she was thinking.

"Well, you did ask me for everything on Cas' life, (I probably should have known by then you 'really liked' him,) and well..." she trailed off, looking at her hands. "I didn't read it all. I did read some, and what I read wasn't pretty. Maybe you just feel bad about what happened to him."

Dean followed her eyes and stared at her hands as she fidgeted. He laid back down and looked at the ceiling again. At least it was a nice color. He didn't want to think about that file. He didn't want to think about what happened to Cas, he didn't want to think about what he said to him about it because he's fucking stupid. Just... Reading it, it sort of clicked, and it registered how dark it was to have happened, but it didn't really seem real. Sort of like reading a book you're forced to read for class, going through the motions, not really getting attached, it's completely fictional.

 _You want to rape me, too?_  Castiel's voice came wrecking, crashing, like nails on a chalkboard, a hammer to a thin, cheap, motel room wall. A single sentence to chill his bones and his heart to those bones, suddenly it was just so  _real_. And it tore Dean apart.

"I say the worst things," he said, barely audible. "I can't believe the words I've said, not just to Cas, to anyone. Things just go flying and I can't stop it. Regret doesn't do much when words have already done their damage,"  _and the damage they can cause is great_ , "How could anyone ever look at me the way I look at Cas with how I am?"

"Oh no you don't," Charlie was standing now. "You're not going to turn this into some self-pity session because I'm not listening to it. Dean Winchester," Charlie said loudly, pointing a dainty finger at his face. " _You_  are great just as you are, as you can tell, you're friends with me."

"Charlie-"

"Nuh-uh, Say it with me, 'I'm Dean Winchester and-"

"Not again," Dean groaned. "I take it all back. I'm a great person."

"Too little too late," Charlie grinned. "You gotta say it. Come on, 'I'm Dean Winchester and I-"

"I'm Dean Winchester and I kick ass better than Harry Potter, if that were possible," Dean dragged a hand down his face. "I don't even  _like_  Harry Potter. We've been over this a million times."

"Of course you do! Everyone loves Harry Potter!"

* * *

Dean caught Castiel as he was about to pass the cafeteria the next day. He looked just like he always did. He was a wreck, his hair was, it was all over the place, and his eyes were crazed as always. They were like the running rivers, splashing and moving, yet tranquil and soft, not to mention the color. Dean could hardly find his voice.

"Dean?"

"Hey, Cas," he rushed out. "What'cha doin'?"

Cas looked at him for a little bit before he responded, "I was on my way to the library."

Damn, did Cas  _ever_  look away? His eyes kept knocking softly into Dean's, never giving him a break. Dean was forced to look away, straight ahead, then flickering to the windows in the hallway.

"Want to eat lunch with me?" He offered, voice sounded much calmer than he felt.

Castiel's head tilted just a bit to the left. "I told you yesterday I don't eat lunch."

Dean nodded and spoke with his hands, "And I told you that wasn't good. You should eat."

"I eat enough at home."

"You already told me that, too," Dean laughed. "Just- Come with me, alright?"

Dean's eyes turned back to Castiel's with the smallest prediction that Castiel might have looked away, but he hadn't. It would have been less affecting to drive a wooden stake through his chest.

Castiel said, "All right," though, and Dean gave him a grin. The corners of Castiel's lips tugged upwards in such an unnoticeable, subtle way that Dean would have missed it had it happened any other day in the past.

Dean led them through a door that looked like a janitor's closet but wasn't. There was a staircase that led to the roof, unkempt concrete stairs without a handrail.

"Are we even... Allowed up here?" Castiel said, his voice touching Dean's shoulder.

Dean looked back at him, smiling and dangling a key in Cas' sight, "Ellen- Er, Principal Harvelle gave me a key. She trusts me up here. She's like a mom to me."

The key clicked in the lock and Dean pushed the gate open. The air was so much cleaner up where they were, and Dean smiled wider. He turned around, cupping his hands around his mouth to shout through the wind for Castiel to close the gate behind him. He did. The wind made Castiel's hair even crazier and Dean had to keep himself from laughing, but didn't do a very good job of it.

"What's funny?" Castiel asked, face as still as stone.

Dean chuckled and leaned over to smooth over Cas' hair. It didn't help at all, which made Dean grin wider. "Your hair is a mess," he laughed, and he didn't know why it was so amusing.

Castiel was rigid and still under his hand as Dean pulled away, clearing his throat. He had a small bag of lunch which he opened and shared with Castiel. He tore a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in half and held one piece out to Castiel. With a hesitant hand, Castiel took the sandwich and bit into it. His eyes were wide, beautiful and  _bright_ , a word Dean would use over and over to describe Castiel's eyes, as he took another bite, finally taking a break from staring at Dean in favor of staring at the sandwich.

"This is very good," he said softly. "Did you make it?"

Dean said, "Yeah," and distracted himself from Castiel enough to take a bite.

"What's in it?" he heard Castiel ask distantly and looked over to see him pulling the pieces of bread apart.

"Peanut butter and jelly," Dean laughed, "You've never had PB & J before?"

Castiel shook his head and put the sandwich back together to take another bite. His attention was focused it, he hummed in thought. "Gabriel normally makes more complicated foods. He likes to cook."

 _Gabriel_ , the name sounded vaguely familiar. Dean just nodded and finished the last of his sandwich. It was quiet. Peaceful. Dean directed his attention back to Castiel as his friend licked some jelly off of his thumb.

"Gabriel is my uncle," Castiel confided. "He takes care of me."

Dean nodded and watched the profile of Cas' face, the sun hanging over their heads and bringing light upon the opposite side of his face.

"Are you going to the Spring Formal?" Dean blurted out of no where.

Castiel's head turned, somehow graceful, and with a still expression he replied, "Why would I?"

Dean rubbed his neck, "I dunno," he mumbled, "It's a few months away, but people are talking about it already. You should go. It's your senior year right? You should just go for the heck of it. For experience, y'know?"

Castiel watched Dean fumble through his words, face revealing no thought at all, eyes blank, like they absorbed everything and let nothing out. "I'm not sure what I would want to experience about a room full of people, a lot of... touching, alcohol."

Dean shrugged, "Well maybe, with someone you liked, you wouldn't mind the touching or getting a little tipsy. Might be fun."

"I've never met someone that I wanted to touch," Castiel said, deadpan, "Or to get drunk with."

 _Not a safe topic, not safe,_  Dean chanted in his mind, but his mouth ignored it. "Not all touching can be bad, you know," he said, and he put his hand on top of Castiel's. "Is this bad?"

The only reaction Castiel showed was the slightest twitch of his finger, and Dean almost thought he wasn't going to respond. In half a minute, though, Castiel said quietly, hesitantly, as if he wasn't sure if he should respond this way or not, "Yes."

Dean yanked his hand back, lips parted as if he wanted to say something. "Um- Sorry-" he stuttered.

Castiel watched him, eyes this great abyss and face as still as the cliff Dean wanted to fling himself off at the moment. He didn't shrug or any other type of response Dean would have expected from anyone else. Dean glanced down at his watch, leaping up to his feet.

"We should probably get to class."


	5. He Doesn't Like the Rain

Castiel pulled his sweater tighter around his body and huffed out a breath of air that scratched his lungs. He looked up to the rain and then his head turned back to the school and to the parking lot. His heart sat heavy in his hands and he dropped it to the pavement. He wasn't sure where Dean was, and he was about to just start walking home. He was probably joking about the whole thing anyways. It was too good to be true anyways, Dean actually wanting to be his friend, or by his implications, more than that. Dean Winchester, on the football team, tons of friends, laughs like the God Himself, smiles as if he were once a star, Castiel kicked the beating thing by his feet just for good measure and turned around.

"Shit, Cas, I didn't know you were out here already!" and suddenly his heart leaped into his chest once more, higher and beating frantically as if he were scared; perhaps he was, but it was a good kind of scared. The kind of scared like he was on the high-dive diving board, a hundred feet in the air, a huge line behind him, and someone chanting his name to go ahead and dive already.

Dean shuffled forwards and pulled Castiel by the sleeve of his sweater towards the car since he hadn't moved. "You must be freezing," he said, apologies dripping from his lips like he had forgotten to swallow water. "I was looking for you over on the west side of campus. I didn't think you'd come out here already."

The rain sounded like a crowd of people running a marathon, repetitive tapping, rapping, on the roof of the car. Castiel got into the car first since Dean opened the door for him and held a folder above his head while he ran around to the driver's side. The car door opened and Dean sat down heavily, shaking his hands free of drops that held onto his beautiful, freckled hands. He then yanked the door shut and threw his backpack into the back seat. Castiel kept his own by his feet. The car roared to life and Dean backed out of the parking lot quickly; most of the students were already gone. With a flick of his hand, the windshield wipers swiped across the glass in front of them.

"It was so nice this afternoon," Dean said, a bit louder than he normally spoke to be heard over the heavy sheets of rain, "I don't know why Mother Nature decided to ruin it like this."

"I like the rain," Castiel said, shivering, "When I'm not waiting out in it, I mean."

"Sorry about that," Dean said again, "I was-"

"Looking for me," Castiel finished and nodded.

Dean looked over Castiel; his eyes were soft, encompassing something Castiel could not yet identify. But then Dean looked away, spell broken, and everything was forgotten. They listened to the rain dance upon the car as Dean watched the road and Castiel watched Dean's thumbs drum on the wheel. Castiel shifted uneasily in his seat, breathing out deeply. His clothes were clinging to his body, and if he were alone he would have taken it off to wring the water out of it. His eyes darted to Dean and back to his own hands in his lap.

"There's a jacket in the backseat," Dean said after a while, his eyes suddenly grappling onto Castiel's. Castiel's eyes were wide and questioning, so Dean's lips lifted into a small smile and he looked back at the road. His head tilted to the side, and he added, "You look cold."

Castiel had a moment of self-debate before he willed himself to reach backwards and drag a large leather jacket into his lap. Rain drops fell from his hair onto the jacket and he hesitated to put it on. He didn't want to ruin it, but Dean looked back over at him with encouraging eyes, and so he pulled it over his shoulders. It was heavy; Castiel was unaccustomed to such weight upon him. But it was nice. It was kind of weird to have his soaked sweater on under it, but he did feel warmer. He felt happier. He hadn't realized the smile that lifted onto his face, but Dean did.

Castiel didn't notice the car had stopped, and Dean didn't say anything about it. When Castiel tore his gaze away from the jacket towards Dean once more, he found Dean's eyes upon him, gaze intense as bright violet may be to a gentle yellow. Despite who he may have been in the past to run, to hide when presented to something so passionate, Castiel held Dean's zealous intentions and took them as his own. Never before had he met anyone like Dean Winchester. Dean Winchester was the oasis in the desert Castiel never knew he was lost in. He was everything dark in light, he was the paint on the edges of a canvas, not in the center. Just when Castiel thought he knew who Dean was, he would do something different. If Castiel were to proclaim Dean to be a God, Dean would commit the deepest sin of Lucifer himself. And where to begin with a book that has no cover, no page numbers, no binding, and with the pages scattered? Castiel, surely, couldn't know the answer. Because that's just what Dean was: a book that Castiel was unable to read or put together.

Dean was his gravity, somehow a magnet that did not attract north to south but Castiel to Dean. They drew closer, and Castiel didn't recognize the hand as his own when it touched Dean's lips, feather-light touch, and Dean sharply took in another breath. He daren't move. Castiel's eyes ardent, he could feel each of Dean's breaths and he cherished them, this man was alive, in front of him, somehow real, and then they were closed, Castiel's eyes, they were closed just when Castiel pressed his lips to Dean's.

Neither of them moved for a few moments, and then Castiel drew back away. His eyes were open once more and his gaze moved from Dean's eyes to his nose and to his lips which he had just tainted and claimed as his own. Somewhere in Castiel's mind, he had claimed Dean for himself, and he didn't know if it was the first time he got into Dean's car, if it was yesterday, or if it was just then- only that he did. The rain was lighter, and Castiel looked to the windshield to see a few drops race down the slope. He saw his home.

"Oh," he said dumbly and gathered his things. "Bye."

He hurried to the front door.

"Bye," Dean whispered to himself as the door closed.

* * *

The world crashed. The clouds ignited into flames and the sky shredded to pieces, four-hundred-and-twenty-eight of them, and littered Castiel's living room.

"I'm so stupid, I'm so stupid, I'm so stupid," he mouthed into his palm and threaded his fingers through his hair. He kissed Dean. Why did he kiss Dean? Why the hell did he kiss Dean? Other than the smallest part of Castiel that would actually want to be somewhat of a... what most would call a "boyfriend" to Dean, he couldn't. He definitely couldn't do this.

Castiel threw his bag into the sofa and ran upstairs to his bedroom. He heard Gabriel call after him, but he couldn't think about Gabriel at the moment. His bedroom door slammed shut and his chest rose and fell rapidly. He tugged on his hair and jumped onto his bed, pulling the blankets over his head. So desperately did he yearn to scream out.

He couldn't do what everyone else did. He couldn't be touched by people. He couldn't be close to people. He couldn't speak freely with people. He didn't want to kiss people, he didn't want to have sex, he  _didn't want to do all this stuff that everyone else did when they were in a romantic relationship with someone!_ On a simple thought, a small, chaste, whim did he wish to kiss Dean in that moment. He didn't want to do it again, didn't want Dean to kiss him again or touch him in any other way- He didn't know what made him do that.

There were those few moments where Castiel would lose himself. Where he would forget himself, or maybe he didn't forget, but it was that it just didn't matter what had happened before. The only kisses that had wrecked his lips were those violated and venomous, and suddenly Castiel desired those same kisses, except they weren't the same. Dean did not kiss like blades dancing on a wire, he kissed like the sun kissed skin on the beach. And just like that, Castiel felt  _it_.  _It_  being something blazing, something thrashing, something brazen. He felt it in his fingers, his toes, his knees and his mouth and his eyelids and his hair, but most of all his chest and his heart. The same  _it_  that possessed Castiel to bring his lips to Dean's.

Maybe he did love Dean, but it must be too soon to say something so drastic.

What did he know about Dean? Dean loved Led Zeppelin and pie. He didn't like the rain.

Three things were hardly enough to say he loves someone. Maybe when he knows more. Maybe when he knows fourteen things, fifteen, twenty, a hundred things about Dean, may he try to say what he feels for him is something akin to love, but for now, he should drop it.

And he did. Or at least before he took a deep breath and all he could smell was  _Dean_. He realized he still had Dean's leather jacket. Castiel wondered if Dean would care if he just kept it. Hung it up in his closet, never wash it, and when he couldn't sleep just grab it and use it as a blanket instead. Castiel's hands slipped inside the pocket of the jacket and he took out a crumpled up receipt from the local supermarket. Macaroni and cheese, beer, and cereal were all listed. Did Dean drink? Castiel's hands crumpled the receipt again.

 _Maybe with someone you liked, you wouldn't mind the touching or getting a little tipsy. Might be fun_. Of course Dean drinks. Everyone drinks. Normal people could enjoy getting drunk. Normal people could stay calm around heavy breath that smelt of whisky. Castiel shed the jacket and set it neatly over a chair. He pulled his damp sweater over his head and walked to the bathroom. His jeans fell to the tile floor along with his belt and boxers, and he stepped over them dazedly as he usually did. He turned the knob to hot and stepped under the spray. Resting his forehead on the tile wall, water ran down his back and dripped from his hair in front of his face. He closed his eyes and ran his hands through the dark locks a few times. He would close his eyes and forbid thoughts in general. He forbade memory of Dean, of the kiss, of Gabriel and the dinner table, of English class and history, but most of all, the screaming voice behind his ears every breathing moment, drunken and hysteric demands of love from his Evelin.

* * *

Dean awoke startled. The room was dark, blurred. He was gripped by something colder and he rolled over and grabbed his phone, immediately wincing at the bright light. It was just past two AM. The front door slammed shut just as loudly as it had opened and footsteps thundered around downstairs. Dean was caught between going downstairs and just hiding away under his sheets. He could tell by the nonrhythmic, sloppy order of stomps that the intruder was drunk, though Dean probably shouldn't call them an intruder. It was probably just his dad. Dean swung his legs over the edge of the bed and his muscles groaned. The house was dark, cold from the late February air that the whipped around outside. His dad continued to fumble around in the kitchen.

His bedroom door opened without a creak, and before he moved down the hall to the kitchen, he poked his head into Sammy's room. Seeing him still soundly asleep caused him to smile softly, and he continued through the darkness towards the kitchen. Familiar with the shadows, he greeted them as friends, and they guided him without harm towards the noises and a bit of light. He found his father, large and swaying in front of the fridge, illuminated by the light inside. His father turned around with a beer bottle in his hand and shut the fridge, casting them back into darkness. Dean sighed, hitting the light switch on the side, and the overhead light sparked and shone.

"Light, light- off," his father slurred. "Sleeping. Dean's sleeping."

"I'm Dean, dad. Sam's the only one asleep, and if he didn't wake up from all this, he's not waking up by a little light."

His father grunted and twisted the cap off of the bottle, pouring it down his throat. He stumbled to the table and leaned dependently on it. Dean hadn't moved, but he turned to where his father was bent over. Times like these, Dean felt his heart simply not there. He felt so empty. He didn't know what to think, didn't care what to think, didn't yearn to find himself. Emotionless, he watched his father slam the bottle down loudly on the wood and then stumble down the hall. He disappeared to the darkness so that Dean could no longer see him, but he heard his father's bedroom door open and close. Dean shut off the light and the shadows guided him back to his bed. He fell back to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.


	6. You Make Me Feel Safer

Castiel hadn't looked through the pantry before, and he realizes now that he had no idea where Gabriel kept the bread. They didn't have peanut butter either. Castiel pushed aside a jar of pickles and stood on the tips of his toes to see over the top shelf. A misplaced hand later, and a couple boxes of cereal come tumbling down, Castiel jumps backwards, arms drawn close to his chest in some kind of unspoken apology. Another light flicked on and Castiel stood like a deer in the headlights as Gabriel stumbled into the room, blinking through the light.

"Castiel?" his voice was sleepy and above all confused. "What are you doing up so early?"

Gabriel held his weight by a hand on the wall, hair sticking up and eyes hardly open. Castiel looked at the pantry again and then at Gabriel and to his feet.

"I was- Um- Making lunch for school."

Gabriel looked as if Castiel had grown a second head. Feeling vulnerable, Castiel fidgeted under his uncle's gaze, but then Gabriel laughed and picked up the boxes of cereal that had fallen.

"What's gotten into you?" he asked kindheartedly. Castiel could not answer, however, for Gabriel had already pulled out some things from the pantry without thought at all and set them on the table. "So what are we making?" Gabriel asked, hands on his hips, looking much more awake than he had minutes ago.

"Do we have peanut butter?" Castiel asked. "I didn't see any. Or bread."

Gabriel smiled, he said, "Bread's in the freezer. It's fresher that way," and then turned around and pulled a jar of peanut butter from the back of the pantry. "I didn't know you liked peanut butter."

Castiel shrugged. "Jelly?"

For some reason Gabriel smiled wider. "PB & J, huh? What brought this on?"

Castiel shrugged again and took two slices of bread and put the rest back in the freezer, (it's kind of a weird place to keep bread, but it wasn't exactly Castiel's place to question it.) Gabriel grabbed a plastic grocery bag from the pantry as well. He told Castiel he'd buy a lunchbox while he was at school today, but for now just to use the bag. Castiel didn't care really if he had a lunchbox or not, he probably wouldn't make this a regular thing either, but nodded. Gabriel helped him open the jar of peanut butter since it was stuck, but Castiel did the rest on his own.

"Here," Gabriel said, grabbing something more from the pantry, "I like it with honey and bananas, too. Makes it sweeter."

Part of Castiel wanted to lunge to stop him under the notion that he was tarnishing something Dean had showed him, but he restricted himself. Their air felt tighter; this was the closest he'd been to Gabriel in a long time. Since he was young, he'd always kept away from everyone. Gabriel stood a few feet away from him, happily adding a few sinful slices of bananas to his sandwich.

"Want anything for breakfast?" Gabriel asked him, but Castiel shook his head. "At least take some toast."

* * *

Love

_(ləv)_

_Noun_

_1) An intense feeling of deep affection_

_2) A person or thing that one loves_

_Verb_

_1) To feel a deep romantic or sexual attraction to (someone)_

Words meant so much, yet at the same time meant nothing at all. Used the right way, they may elicit such responses in a person to do so much as start a war, but at times like these, they were vacant. Castiel did not understand love, didn't understand how people threw the word around so easily, didn't understand how even children could claim to love another, and yet he, nearly eighteen, still couldn't string together his soul enough to start to comprehend this word. He didn't understand much at all, and some would argue that was the point of life. It's like a game- and there's a time limit, too- to see how much you can understand before game over. Some forfeit the game, some don't even want to play, some take it a little too seriously, and some cheat. But like any game, there's no true winner, only the experience.

"Castiel?"

Castiel blinked, snapped out of his trance. A few moments of silence passed.

"Can you answer this question?"

To be honest, Castiel could hardly remember which class he was in. He felt underwater, sounds coming at him distorted, voices blurring like the faces. It might have something to do with sleep, it might have something to do with lack of interest, either way, finding out the cause doesn't change the effect.

"I wasn't paying attention," he said bluntly. A few giggles ran through the class like shaking a rug or ripples in a pond.

The teacher gave Castiel a condescending glare, a look that Castiel very seldom received, and then she moved on and the class know-it-all whom had their hand up since half the question was asked answered. Castiel dropped his gaze. His fingertips ran slowly over the wood of the desk. School was complete crap. It measured intelligence on one's ability to solve an arithmetic problem and completely disregards any other sign of intellect. The objective, seemingly to educate, does such a poor job of that.

The bell rang and Castiel pulled his things together and dashed to the door. He wanted to see Dean. It was this urge, this itch that suddenly appeared between his shoulder blades that he would never be able to scratch. Lunch was another class period away, though, so Castiel plopped down in his third period class, already zoning out. He closed his eyes momentarily, swallowed by an ocean of emotions he had suppressed. He ran his fingers through his hair and heard the last bell ring and the classroom door close. Voices sounded garbled and distorted, and he forced his eyes open again. He was in AP US history.

The class period stretched out and slowed to a stop. Castiel's eyes dragged across the tops of his classmates heads, at the Numbers. He wasn't supposed to look. No one was supposed to look, but they were becoming increasingly fascinating to him. Each Number was at least over the number seventy-three, and the highest was ninety-one. Castiel vaguely wondered what his own Number was. They weren't reflected in mirrors. They could not be spoken either. He wondered what the point of them were, for reasons like the reason Dean confronted him, or for some pointless, luckless, reason as simple as a mistake. He wondered how they worked, if it was because it was wired into your heart or soul, and in that case, each person should somehow know themselves when one dies. It's such a dark topic, something forever going unmentioned, something that inspired pain and despair. At the simple mention of death by a child, heads turned, gasps were made, and the mother would shake her head and cover the child's mouth because it was not proper to speak of death. If Castiel were Death, he'd feel a unappreciated.

Many didn't pay any mind to the Numbers. They were meaningless, at least at this age. Everyone had their lives ahead of them, with the exception of a few, but it was often too late to save anyone. By legend, if acted upon the Numbers, the death would come quicker. A man who tried to save his wife from dying started to have a heart attack and died two days before her Number was up. But if that was true... Why didn't Castiel die when Dean had provoked him to... get rid of himself from the world?

Come to think of it, he had never paid attention to them before. He didn't know what Gabriel's Number was, and he supposed that was for the best. Gabriel was much older than Castiel, almost in his forties. Not everyone lived so long. Gabriel could...

Why did the Numbers depict day of death? Why could they not count down to something... happier?

But it didn't matter. There was nothing to be done. His own hand reached above his head and swept over it. There was nothing there. Was it only in his head?

"Castiel?"

_Deja vu._

When Castiel didn't respond immediately, his teacher added, "What year did the Boston Tea Party take place?"

Castiel blinked the fog from his mind and said, "1773," voice sounding strange to his mind. He wanted to see Dean.

The teacher nodded and dove back underwater. Castiel twisted his pencil in his hand. The bell rang.

* * *

He ran into Dean in the hallway.

"Cas?" Dean laughed, and it brought relief over Castiel like a sheet of rain. "Be careful. Why are you running?"

Castiel watched light dance in and out of Dean's eyes, staring breathtakingly for several moments. "I don't know."

"What's that?" he nodded to the bag in Castiel's hands.

Castiel looked down at the bag as if he'd never seen it before. "I brought lunch."

A big grin spread over Dean's face. "Really? Listening to me? Who are you and what have you done with Cas?"

Castiel, again, fell silent. Some things were better left unsaid, he decided. Things he couldn't decide to say, things he couldn't put into words, these emotions flying around his ears like butterflies in a hurricane. Castiel came to the conclusion that he rather liked the wordless air. It was like music, soft and playing on a scratched record, and he didn't think Dean minded either. Dean always broke eye contact first, and brushed off whatever connection they had made with a soft laugh. He motioned for Castiel to follow, and he did.

"I think my friends want to meet you," Dean said a few seconds before they entered the cafeteria. Entering the cafeteria was like walking through a portal. Suddenly it was louder, hotter, smelled grosser.

Dean walked towards the same table Castiel saw him sitting at before. All the same people he remembered were there, too. A fair-skinned girl with blonde hair, Charlie, an Asian boy with black hair, and a burly-looking brunet man. Charlie waved ecstatically and her eyes darted from Castiel to Dean, looking as if they were having a conversation with their eyes instead of their mouths. The blonde-girl looked Castiel up and down, seeming to assess him and nod to herself. The boys seemed indifferent.

The blonde-haired girl moved a seat over so that Dean could sit by Castiel, and a great hand gripped the group by the neck. No one said anything for a few minutes, and Castiel felt as if he'd intruded on something he shouldn't have. His fingers twitched and he nearly excused himself to the library when the blonde-haired girl spoke up.

"I'm Jo," she said, her voice strong and firm as the hand she outstretched for a handshake.

Castiel cautiously took her hand, and the second before he actually gripped it she was already shaking it. Castiel's arm flailed helplessly. "Castiel."

Charlie snorted. "I'm pretty sure we all know who you are."

"Dean never shuts up about you."

Heat rushed to Castiel's cheeks and he glanced at Dean who was looking just as uncomfortable. "Yeah, yeah, sure I don't. Whatever. Anyways, this is Jo, Charlie, Kevin, and Benny."

Kevin waved at him and Benny grinned a big, toothy grin. Benny had a tray of cafeteria food in front of him, most of it gone or played with. Dean was opening his lunch, so Castiel did the same. He didn't like being around so many people. Everyone was so close, within a foot or less, and there were people talking and running around him. He clenched his fists and closed his eyes momentarily. Nothing was happening. Everything was fine. Normal people did this. Everyone did this,  _Look around,_  he shouted at himself,  _look at how many people are in here and not freaking out about it._  He felt suddenly empty, lost of appetite, and just wanting to leave. Charlie, to his left, brushed her hand against his arm and he tensed up, feeling a scream crawl up his throat.

But he was stronger than that, because he broke the key as he locked it inside.

"I'm going to the restroom," he said softly, stoically with no waver in his voice as he wavered inside. His hands were a different story, though, they shook violently as he stood from the table and tried to get out of the cafeteria. He felt he could hardly breathe. His eyes wouldn't work. Everything was blurry and gross, sticking together like unbuttered pasta.

A student ran into his shoulder, "Watch it," said a gruff voice, and Castiel felt shocks run through his arm.

He couldn't stay calm much longer, so he ran out of the cafeteria and down the hall, eyes burning and chest thundering. His ears were ringing as he slammed the bathroom door shut. He locked it and slumped over in the corner. The lights were still off. His chest heaved up and down as a choked sob escaped his lips. Head in his hands, he tried to get his lungs to work.

_One, two three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, in. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven out._

Castiel licked his lips and finally he could feel his heart. Just when he felt near the edge of serenity a loud, deafening knock broke through the door. Again, again, again.

"Cas, answer me, please," Dean sounded scared. Why did he sound scared?

Scrambling to his feet, he fumbled with the lock of the bathroom. It was a single, large stall. The door was heavy, and when it was pushed open, he saw Dean, eyes wide and frantic, worried and frightened. Why would he be frightened?

A big rush of air came out of Dean's mouth. He slung his arms around Cas' shoulders for a hug, and suddenly it was all back. Gross, sticky, revolting, scratching, clawing, painful, aching, raw, sharp, and lurid nails through his chest and whispers in his ear. He couldn't move, he was still. Dean held him close to his chest, and he was talking, he could feel the air shift around his shoulder, he could feel Dean's disgusting lips moving, but he couldn't hear the words. And suddenly the world was so much darker.

"Please," he whispered brokenly, just air, no voice. "Please, let me go,  _please_."

Dean shot away from him as if Castiel were a pan just taken from a burning stove.

"Oh my God," Dean said in horror, "I-I'm sorry, don't-" his arm moved forward and Castiel flinched backwards.

How do you comfort someone who is incapable to receiving it?

Castiel still couldn't speak. He held his arms around himself and tried to force air into his lungs. He didn't know how long they stood there, but he vaguely remembered a sea of students passing behind Dean for a moment. The world slowed down, and Castiel felt calm once more. He dropped his arms to his sides and then brought them to his face to rub his eyes.

"Sorry," he mumbled, and truly, he was.

"'Sorry?'" Dean repeated, unbelieving of the word Castiel had uttered. "What the hell are  _you_  sorry for?"

Castiel shifted. "I- I, um, I get like this sometimes. I know it's not... Normal or easy to see, so..."

They lapsed into silence once more.

"I mean-" Castiel said after a while, "It's just I feel like I need to escape wherever I'm at, so I do. It's not your fault, and you shouldn't be concerned about me-"

"The hell I shouldn't!" Dean shouted. "You can't just tell me when I'm supposed to care about you and when I should turn a blind eye. It's just- What do I do? I can't- I just  _can't_  stand here like this every single fucking time this happens if it happens often like you said. I can't be useless."

Castiel looked down at his feet. The bathroom floor was dingy. He wished he had something better to look at, and he did, he had Dean, but he couldn't look at those worried, pitying eyes right now.

"I like it," he said softly, "When you're here. I like you. You're not useless. You make me feel safer."

"Just not when I touch you," Dean said sharply, and Castiel flinched.

But it was true, so Castiel said, "Yeah."

Dean sighed, heavy and hard, face to they sky, or where the sky would be had they not been in school, and he said, "if it helps. Yeah. I'm here for you."


	7. And Live Again

Castiel often sang in his bedroom, this was mentioned previously. He didn't know if it was the tune or the particular free breath of air that made him love to sing, but the best guess was that it's probably both. His lips cracked open and he hummed softly, a song he heard in the background of nothingness. His fingers felt numb, and everything disappeared. It's strange how at one point, he can feel so at war with himself, and yet, here is is. Singing quietly, hearing nothing but his own voice, and it's calming. He vaguely wishes for Dean to sing to him. How would he sound? Would his voice be deeper or higher or would it sound the same? Would it be rough or soupy or spoken? Castiel's voice was deeper, spoken and smooth. A fistful of sheets, he smiles and laughs, a strange sound, feeling like rocks on his tongue.  _Dean_  inspired that of him. He showed him things, provoked things of him he would have never otherwise experienced. It went to extremes: the first feelings disgusting and gross, stringy and broken, and suddenly now, as if none of that had happened, he felt uplifted. Dean must be magical, capable of wiping a slate clean.

" _Wipe mine clean,_ " Castiel sang inadvertently. " _So I might one day rise up off my knees_."

The words came out as a river may flow, and it came purposefully. And soon he had verses upon verses sitting on his lips. Eyes closed, he laid upon his bed, his hands tangled in his own hair. His feet were flat on the sheets. His room was spotless, save for a blue shirt in a lump under his bed. His eyes opened, not quickly and rashly, but slowly. His eyelashes lifted and his eyes, blue as the sky over the roof, over the clouds and beneath the sun, saw oblivion. His very being yearned for Dean, for his voice and for his presence, his smile. His lips were still moving, his voice still singing.

_"Dear, why can't I be set free?_

_And of what, I daren't seek the answer,_

_just free;_

_I know that you can provide that for me._

_You are dear to me, and you are free._

_Help me to be free."_

Because that's exactly what Dean was, he was  _free_. Somehow he could do anything, be anything, smile like the sun and walk as if he owned it. But it was foolish, and Castiel knew this, it was foolish to feel love so early. Though maybe... He could try it? Elvis was the one who said only fools rush in, but damn it all, because this wasn't something that Castiel could hinder himself of. It was rushing through him, grand and great and it demanded to be paid attention to.

"Please," Castiel whispered, and he wasn't sure if it was part of the song or not.

* * *

"The sun is pretty."

"Yeah."

It was windy, too. It was nearly noon, and Castiel felt at ease as he sat on the heating concrete of the school's roof. Dean had brought him up there again. He rather liked it, at least a lot more than the cafeteria. His heart picked up a faster pace, a pace it liked to run while Dean was near. Castiel just couldn't stop himself from realizing how beautiful Dean was, truly. People use the word too lightly, because they use it when they're not describing Dean. Dean needs his own word, and Castiel will only ever call on thing beautiful, and that thing is Dean, objective or subjective, nothing can compare anymore. It's been nearly two weeks since they'd fallen into something akin to friendship, but always bleeding over that line. Dean was cautious and respective of Castiel's boundaries much like in a way that Gabriel was, but there was something different with Dean. There was always passion, desire, and restraint in Dean's eyes, a flinch of his hands, a twitch in his wrist as he pulled it back closer to his side.

Once, Castiel found himself yearning for the same, for Dean to reach over and touch his shoulder, his arm, cheek, his  _something_. It was a longing that Castiel had never felt before, and he couldn't find himself longing for contact by anyone else. It was Dean's gentle hands, and his light laughter, it was Dean that Castiel needed like he needed air.

"I like yours better, Castiel mumbled and glared at the banana slices on his sandwich. He never had been able to stop Gabriel from putting weird things on it.

"My what?"

"When you gave me some of your sandwich the first time we were here," Castiel said, his voice softer in memory, but it hardened again as he added grumpily, "Gabriel puts things on mine when he insists on making it."

Dean laughed. Why did he laugh? But Castiel didn't really care. He wished he could hear it again and again.

Dean leaned over and took the sandwich from Castiel's hands and gave him his own partially-eaten peanut-and-jelly masterpiece.

Dean felt caged, honestly. To be so close to something so beautiful and yet they were untouchable, both literally and figuratively. There were days Dean would be so frustrated with everything he couldn't function. He couldn't see the color blue without thinking of Castiel. He'd gotten too deep involved with someone he could never have, and it hurt. Castiel would be forever content with being a whole mile away from Dean's affections, from his heart, and Dean couldn't imagine anything that could kill him more. Every step nearer wasn't near enough. His insides were ice these days, and he wished for a chain to keep himself at arms-length away easier than he had to wretch himself from the angel in front of him.

It's wasn't right. He shouldn't be pining. It was indescribably stupid. Yet... Here he was. Gazing upon Castiel, eyes brighter now that he had Dean's sandwich rather than his own. He would have given anything to just stay away, but at the same time he would fight anything, kill for anything that tried to take Castiel away from him now. He could never survive anymore, he lived through this beautiful man that had stolen something Dean thought he'd guarded so carefully.

There Castiel was, with Dean heart down his throat, left unseen, now, because Castiel probably didn't know how badly Dean had let himself fall.

The lovers drifted nearer, but as opposite poles, pushed apart before they could get too close.

 _But he had kissed me,_  Dean remembered vaguely. It felt like a dream as far away as it was now, and he couldn't stand the thought that Castiel did that just to fuck with him. It couldn't have been.

"Why did you kiss me?" Dean couldn't censor his question, high and hard in his throat.

Castiel seemed startled, eyes wide and a puffy cheek of Dean's sandwich. He swallowed and his eyes never drew away from Dean's. It was that Castiel-look, how his eyes took Dean's and just held them. Never let them go. Ever. It was insane, intense, and Dean was getting better at keeping his gaze. He didn't know if it was a test that Castiel had put up or a defense mechanism.

"I don't understand," is what Castiel said eventually, and Dean wanted to scream.

He nearly let it go, he wanted to, but his heart grabbed his throat and forced it to speak. "When I drove you home that day. You kissed me."

And there it was: Castiel's eyes dropped from Dean's. "I don't know," he murmured. "I just... I wanted to. You were just there and- I don't know."

Honestly, it would have been kinder to send an arrow through his chest. "So if that had been anyone else driving you home, you would have kissed them? It was just a 'Oh I feel like kissing someone right now' type of thing?" He couldn't help the anger the fell sinfully from his last word. He couldn't comprehend himself just how torturous it was that Castiel had seen Dean as something to use.

"No!" Castiel shouted just at the end of Dean's last word, and Dean's eyes snapped back up. "I- It was because it was you. I would  _never_ \- I don't know!"

Castiel seemed to shut down, a board built up between both of them. Silence rained down from the sky and swallowed them whole, and Dean fought the urge to just speak his mind. It was the first time since he could remember that he felt so cautious, so scared of doing the wrong thing; in his hands he held this fragile thing he loved too much to screw up- and it drove Dean  _crazy_  because the more he said it, the more he believed it. He loved Castiel, enough to drive him insane.

"Would you ever want to do it again?" Dean's lips mouthed, his voice barely working, and yet over the wind around them Castiel could hear him.

In response,Castiel leaned over, and Dean held his breath. He drew nearer and nearer, his eyes piercing and searching, never looking away, as if he needed some assurance of who Dean was. In any other kiss Dean's eyes would have closed, but not with Cas. Their eyes stayed open, even if in the slightest. Their noses brushed, and Dean's heart raced, like he was a kid again with his first crush.

"Yes," Castiel breathed, and Dean felt the words on his lips as they touched Castiel's.

Castiel kissed in the most subtle way, with hardly any movement. Their lips stayed pressed together for a few moments before Dean tilted his head slightly, nose squishing against Castiel's cheek, and took Castiel's breath into his own lungs. It was as if they were learning together, as if Castiel had never been kissed before and neither had Dean. Chastity fell between them and, slowly, they made their way through something safe together. Whatever boundary that they forced down between them was gone forever, at least for Dean, he couldn't go back after this. He  _needed_  Cas. Needed him like he needed air. Castiel's breath hitched and for a terrifying moment Dean thought he was going to have another panic attack, but Castiel pressed closer, not with his body, but with his mind. It was like Dean could feel every inch of him.

As Dean pulled backwards Castiel pushed forward, and Dean gasped as Castiel stole one last kiss before he allowed an inch between their lips. Castiel's eyes still had not closed, but they were less wide than they had been. Dean's eyes flickered down his face, settled on his red, a-bit-puffier, stayed like that, exchanging breaths, close and more intimate than any one-night-stand Dean had ever done.

"Hey," his voice wasn't loud, wasn't even a voice as much as it was a breath. "Will you be my lover? Please?"

"Like your boyfriend?" Castiel's voice was softer.

Dean's lips pushed upwards and he laughed quietly. He didn't know why he laughed.

"Yeah," he whispered, "That."

"I can kiss you a lot more when I'm your boyfriend," Castiel voiced.

"You're not wrong," Dean laughed, voice quiet, "I'll bribe you. A kiss a day."

Castiel was somehow leaning closer, as if they weren't already close enough. "Two."

"Two," Dean repeated.

"Then okay," Castiel said so quietly, and yet Dean could hear him; both sandwiches left unfinished by their sides as they shared another kiss.

* * *

As said over and over once more, Castiel didn't know what love was, but he'd imagine it's something like this. Nearly immediately Castiel had explained to Dean he didn't like to be physically touched other than in a few ways, and Castiel had to touch Dean first if Dean were to touch him. Dean had listened carefully and understood, he didn't seem to be put out about it, almost like he expected it. He could still tell Dean was disappointed that he couldn't kiss Castiel first, but he didn't say anything about it. They fell into something familiar, and it filled Castiel up to the brim with happiness.

Castiel never imagined he could have something like this. After seeing countless couples around school and around the world, he never stopped to acknowledge it was something  _he_  could have, too. Castiel's favorite moments became the car rides home with Dean and meeting Dean on the roof for lunch. Admittedly, they had skipped fourth period a few times because they got too caught up in each other. Charlie always kept Castiel caught up, though. Dean turned out to be something akin to medicine for an illness Castiel had never properly made notice of before. Slowly he was becoming better, less panic attacks about being around too many people, less weights in his chest during each moment of the day.

Dean and Castiel came up with a little code word for if Dean does anything that triggers Castiel, "Endless." It came up one day when Dean had jokingly said, " _You know you love me_."

After a few moments of silence, allowing Castiel to keep himself from falling too deep into anxiety, Dean asked, "Which part was it?" with something Castiel couldn't quite recognize in his voice.

"'Love me,'" Castiel had replied quietly.

The subject changed quickly, and that's how it always was. If anything in the world, Dean would give anything to go back and save Castiel from his past. Somehow. But here, now, they couldn't look back at what they couldn't change. Though the aftermath is still present, nothing can be changed, so Dean just does his best to help Castiel where he can.

"I love you," Dean whispered, and his eyes searched Castiel's for any sign of rejection.

Castiel put the palm of his hand on Dean's chest and leaned forward, slowly, it was always slowly, with no break in eye contact.

"I love you, too," it was something his father had never said to him, and something he hadn't dared utter until now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I thiiiink this is the end... I may or may not add more if I get inspired, but for now this is it. I hope you liked it!


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